|Birth: ||Jan., 1996|
New York, USA
|Death: ||Nov. 13, 2013|
New York, USA
Q was my best friend. A wild colored cockatiel, he was my companion since he was 4 months old. When I got him he was the smallest of the birds available, and had a crippled foot because he'd been bitten by a larger bird, and bore the scar the rest of his life. He was determined to get to me, chasing the other baby cockatiels away and trying desperately to get on my hand and arm. Everyone says never get an injured or lame bird as a pet, but I have to disagree. My crippled Q was my little sweetheart.
When he was just q he liked everyone, going around and being friendly no matter who it was. As he got older and into being Q he decided he loved just me, his worst enemy was my sister, who he'd go on a mission against if he was able to. What a bad birdy! I thought it was funny, even if it was horrible behavior.
Q was a dry-clean only bird, when he was young he didn't mind taking a bath but as he got older he became stubborn and stopped taking baths. This makes it rough, because cockatiels are little dustballs because of powder feathers they have to maintain plumage. Q also was determined to chew on my books while I was reading. One day as he was chewing the edge of my book I got frustrated and said "Stop it, Q!" and gave him a light tap on the back with my bookmark. All of the sudden Q started flopping around, going through all the motions of taking a bath. So I tapped him some more, and he kept on taking his bath. Q would do a solid bath, really working himself over good, as long as I was whacking him with the bookmark. It wasn't a fluke, either, for the rest of his life he would take a dry bath if "beaten" with a bookmark! Eventually I could just drum his back with my fingers and he'd take a bath. He was a dry-clean only cockatiel!
He could talk and whistle, his normal things to say being "Wanna drink?" and "Hi, Q B!", his favorite whistle was learned from my Dad, and was the calvary charge. He knew our old beagle-mix was Stormy, and called her "Stormy Dog!" He was about 2 when she died, and I took him out to her grave and showed him, I told him Stormy had died, he cocked his head, wolf-whistled and said "Bye bye, Stormy Dog!" I don't know if he really understood, but I want to think he did.
For many years his buddy was a lovebird, Ra, who adored him. He never wanted her to touch or groom him, and acted irritated with her much of the time. When she died he seemed to suddenly realize what he'd lost, and became very stressed and called for her for a long time, pacing in his cage and running to the corner that faced her cage. It took a lot out of him, my poor Q. Shortly after her death he got another lovebird as his own "pet", Boo, that he seemed to like but she is an insanely young and rambunctious and sometimes overwhelmed the poor old bird.
A few days before he died Q seemed to suffer a stroke as I was returning him to his cage. I held him to my chest for hours, he laid still and I let Boo out to be with him, too. She preened him and nuzzled him, while I held him close. About 8 hours later he perked up, took a drink, ate a little, and seemed better. I had Q a scant 6 days more, not nearly long enough.
I miss him.
Specifically: Under the cypress tree
Plot: Setting Sun
Created by: Oh look, a chicken!
Record added: Nov 13, 2013
Find A Grave Memorial# 120281797